There's No Knowing, Where We're Going
by FeatherEars
Summary: A local baker, resentful of Willy Wonka's success, does something she may or may not regret. DeppWonka/OC
1. Chapter 1

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character. I couldn't think of a decent name for her so I used the name of the main female character of Mass Effect.

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><p>Jane Shepard nursed a cranberry vodka whilst gawping at a nearby neon sign. It was pretty enough that she did not even question why she hadn't blinked for the past minute. Breaking away from that line of sight, like a moth away from a flame, she took another swig of the luminescent liquid.<p>

It was a Tuesday, and that meant two for one cocktails at her local bar. Christmas had left a dent in her bank account, and Jane was being careful not to overspend. Sending away presents to relatives who lived halfway across England was expensive, but she had chosen to ostracize herself for the sake of her career.

"How's business, Shepard?" The barkeep asked her cordially whilst scrubbing down the counter.

She looked up through her daze and gave a lopsided smile. "It's the after Christmas slump, I'm afraid. Every business must be feeling it; seems worse this year though."

Dave, the bartender, nodded solemnly. "I feel ya'. It's a tourist thing, I think. Not that many people interested in Wonka's chocolate factory at the minute, it seems."

"Ridiculous," Jane swung back on her chair, effectively sloshing her drink. "You'd think after the whole golden ticket...," she waved her hands, looking for the word, "fiasco! That there'd be a steady stream of visitors to keep us in the money."

Dave lent on the worn counter, using elbows as support.

"You not been reading the papers?"

"Bah, full of bad news," she replied, as if the thought was distasteful.

"Man, you been missing it. Well that kid that won? Everyone was trying to get interviews with him, weren't they? Anyway, kid kept refusing. Got all these reporters from around the world following him to school everyday. Eventually he gets some legal aid, this injunction from the courts that stops media harassing him. That was a few month ago, so now we've got a dry spell ahead of us as far as customers are concerned."

Jane squinted. "He should have been more of a cock tease with the papers, at least then I wouldn't be eating noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner," she scoffed. Dave belly laughed before going to see to another customer that had desperately been trying to catch his attention.

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><p>The woman stumbled onto the street, happily letting the cold February air find her flushed skin. Temperatures didn't seem the matter when you were inebriated. Nor did anything else, really.<p>

Her stagger home strangely enough took her past the famous chocolate factory. Steely grey eyes regarded the dull brickwork with envy. It all seemed so effortless. Chocolate went out and the money rolled in for Mr Wonka.  
>She had thought she had made a smart move by opening her bakery shop close to the factory. Local business gained profit just from location. Yet the Golden Ticket buzz came and went, and Jane had probably only made couple of hundred pounds extra from that. Her entrepreneurial spirit had only managed to allow her independent living, rather than a life of luxury she craved to earn.<p>

She went to lean on a bin as she contemplated, her fingers curling around the grubby edge. The tip of her fingers touched a wet substance and she immediately whipped her hand back, fearing a slug or something along those lines. On unbalanced feet, she leaned forward to peak into a pile of rubbish.

Instead of garden creatures, there was instead a spray paint can, oozing slightly. Looking back to the wall, she saw a half finished bit of graffiti.

The 'y' of 'Willy' had not been put on, and Jane wondered if the perpetrator had seen someone before tossing the can into the bin.

Red paint had stained the tip of her fingers. Eying her digits, a devilish smile crept to her face.

Retrieving the can from the bin, she toddled over to the wall and finished what had been started by adding the 'y'. Going further, she added the name 'Wonka' - instead changing the 'o' to an 'a'. Giggling at her handiwork like a schoolgirl doodling in the margins, she turned to deposit the spray paint back in the bin.

Instead she was confronted by a tall man in a top hat who was surrounded by children.

"Well then, looks like we've found the cad," the man said, as if offended at the sight of her. His head was turned away and a grimace on his face; whether he was still looking down at her, Jane could not tell because of the absurd goggles he wore.

"Cad?" She raised an eyebrow dangerously. She looked down at the children, only to see wizened faces looking back at her. Little people? Eyebrow now rocketing, she looked back to the man, and realised something else - his image was strangely familiar to one she had glanced at a year ago when the factory was opened up to those five kids.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?" She spewed out before thinking, then righted herself. He should be sweating up there in the factory with all the money he makes, not swanning about late at night with peculiar bodyguards. "Shouldn't you be hiding away somewhere?"

"I should. But you seem to be using my factory wall as a canvas, and I'm afraid that just wont do," he answered with weak but terse smile.

Jane swiveled left and right, pointing to all the other tags that had adorned his walls (some for years on end).

"The others seem to have gotten away with it," she proclaimed arrogantly. What a turd, she thought. Just because the _great _chocolatier decided to mosey about the streets did not give him the right to say what he wanted!

"The _others _did so in the daytime, when it was utterly impossible for me to apprehend them," he explained stiffly, trying to justify himself. He seemed of paying an awful lot of attention to a nearby CCTV camera.

"Ha! So I'm the one that gets in shit because you're too scared to come out in the day?" She laughed unbelievingly, only to have him frown at her. At least, she thought it was a frown.

"Actions have consequences-"

"Apparently only at night," she answered sarcastically, noticing how she was starting to feel sober again; and angry.

"-and as such it is my civic duty to place you under citizen's arrest."

A horde of little people jumped onto her, one holding a odd smelling cloth to her face. Before she passed out, she made sure the two punches she threw counted, and knocked out two Oompa Loompas.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character.

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><p>When Jane Shepard woke up, she wasn't all too sure whether the nauseous feeling that hit her was because of the alcohol or the chloroform (or whatever the pungent substance had been).<p>

She was lay on a scratchy mattress on the floor, and there was no discerning features in the small room except the striking bareness of it. The dull, white and windowless doors made it feel more like a prison cell. Which brought her thoughts back round to last nights events - assuming that in her drug induced sleep she had only slept one night.

"Citizens arrest!" She seethed under her breath, sneering. Scrambling upwards, she shook out her curly hair and straightening her leggings before assessing the room with a more critical eye. There was no window for Jane to smash, so that half-baked idea was crushed. The door, however, could possibly be smashed through, if she put her back into it, right? The door itself was the same colour and material as the rest of the room, and she wondered if it would be hinged like any other normal door. The seams were the only feature that gave it away as an exit - there wasn't even a handle.

Bracing herself, she hurtled her shoulder into the door. It hurt, but she repeated the process a few more times, determined and wrathful. Hearing a scuffle and the sound of jangling keys, she hastily pedaled backwards. Keen eyes on the door, she kept her fists clenched.

Willy Wonka strode into the room, obviously displeased to have even been there at all.

"You better let me go you freak before I rip your spine out of your throat," Jane snarled, her step forward enforcing her threat.

His hands balled up near his finely dressed chest, looking like he should be handing her his lunch money, but as his army of little people poured in and surrounded him, he regained his confidence and stared her in the eye.

"Well?" She spat. "This was supposed to be a citizens arrest, so where are the police?" One of the small men (well, all of them) were giving her the evil eye, and the sudden urge to boot one was overwhelming.

"Hm? Police? Oh no, they'd give you no more than a slap on the wrist. Not my idea of justice," he replied, his voice dipping through different tones as if he was not too taken with the matter at hand.

"That's not a citizens arrest then, is it? That would be kidnapping. Soon as I get out of here, I'm going to sue you Mr. Wonka, and I am going to bleed you dry," she warned darkly as she paced around, trying to spot a way through the throng of small identical men.

"Is that so?" He murmured lazily as she shifted to and throw like a caged cat.

"Mr Wonka?" A young boys voice called from down what sounded like a corridor. "Are you there?"

Immediately, Jane shrieked for help, effectively herding everyone but her out of the room in a hurry. As the door closed and the lock clicked, the woman threw herself forward and pressed her ear to the thick wood, listening intently for anything that would help her.

"What was that? Who's in there?" The boy asked, mounting apprehension evident in his tone.

"You shouldn't mumble Charlie, it doesn't become you."

"Tell me what's going on now," the boy demanded.

"Not now, my dear boy, we're late for dinner. We shouldn't dilly dally."

"Fine, you can explain to mum and dad why there is a woman screaming in the spare rooms," the boy said calmly, showing a maturity that did not fit his voice.

Jane heard someone huff.

"Very well."

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><p>The second time the door swung open, Jane was going to shoot some choice words towards her captor but was instead met with the image of a homely looking woman of similar age to herself. Using an old tea towel, she was balancing a large steaming plate in her hands.<p>

"Please get me out of here," Jane began to plead to the woman, but her face turned sour again as she saw Mr. Wonka duck into the room after her.

The female's face, sweetly portrayed with the bow in her hair, looked unsure of how to proceed. Instead, she lay down the plate on the floor near Jane. A roast chicken dinner.

"Here's some food, miss. We will be getting you into a better room before the night is through - one with a toilet," she added guiltily. The word 'toilet' was hazardous at the moment as she desperately needed a pee.

"We?" Jane noted, the implications worrying.

"My name is Molly Bucket. My son works at this factory with Mr Wonka here. We've convinced Mr Wonka to employ you for a time as opposed to keeping you locked up-" Molly started, but was rudely interrupted.

"I already have a job thank you very much," Jane said blankly, not wanting to come across as rude to Mrs Bucket. She must put up with a lot, being around that stuck up prick for most of the time - and she certainly didn't envy her son.

"Ah? A job? Do tell, what is your profession?" Willy asked with a half smile. He was baiting her, she knew it. Waiting for her to say, and possibly inform her what a lowly title she held.

"I own a bakery," Jane said with as much pride as she could muster. Yet, they do say pride comes before a fall...

"Mm?" Luckily, though, Willy just gave her a queer sort of grin before adverting his odd eyes, apparently thinking.

"I am by no means happy with this outcome miss Shepard, believe me, and I will be having many more heated discussions with this boy of a man before the day is through," Mrs Bucket promised, shooting a withering look at the chocolate maker, who was seemingly no longer interested.

Jane panicked. Was everyone just trying to brush this under the carpet because of his status? She had been _kidnapped_ for goodness sake!

"You do realise," she began, finding it hard to move her tongue around her mounting fears, "that when I go screaming to the police, the media shit storm will ruin you all? If I'm allowed to go now - right now - I'll keep my mouth shut. People ask where I've been, why I've not been in work, I vaguely say I received some upsetting news from my relatives that took me some time to deal with. If I leave _right now" _she stressed._  
><em>

Willy let a small smile creep onto his face at her frantic words. He imagined she regretted her behaviour right about now.

Molly patted the female's shoulder comfortingly, yet the gesture offered her no solace. "I'll sort this out, don't you worry." Mrs Bucket stood, then gave Mr Wonka a heated stare. "Because if it doesn't get sorted out, and I mean quickly, Willy can make his own dinners."

What kind of threat was that? He was a grown man. An arrogant one at that.

As they left, Molly's worried smile and Mr Wonka's faint smirk left her with frustrated tears for the rest of the evening.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character.

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><p>As Mrs Bucket had foretold, Jane eventually heard the clamour of boots in the hallway. They had come to move her into another room.<p>

After the tear tracks had dried, Miss Shepard had promised herself not to go easy on her captor, and that is why she was crouched down to the side of the door. When it would open, effectively hiding her, she would crack some skulls and make a dash for the exit.

The tinkle of keys was unmistakable and pure, and adrenaline began to whip around her body.

"Fight or flight," Jane murmured to herself excitedly. Preferably both.

She could just imagine the fine dress suits she would wear to the court hearings, and the '_ka-ching_' as compensation lined her purse. Oh yes, she was definitely getting out of here. As they say, when life gives you lemons...make profit from lemonade.

"Come along, wretch, we haven't all night," the bastard announced as he flowed into the room, cane clicking.

She rocketed into his peripheral vision, punched him in the kidneys, and kicked her way through the small men into the corridor. She'd had plenty of time to prepare and limber up in that room, and through her sprint, her curvy legs felt unusually springy; speed wasn't her forte, but against her assailants, she had the advantage.

Barreling down the bland steely halls, she skidded near a set of stairs that she almost missed and spared a glance back the way she came.

Willy Wonka had hobbled out of the room on bent knees, clutching his side. His little bodyguards were oddly immobile, and what set the alarm bells off in her head was the fact that Mr Wonka was giving her the creepiest look - somewhere between pained and amused, the smile slipping into a grimace, and the grimace slipping into a smirk. His unoccupied arm reached out to the wall, pressing an unseen button.

The crystal clear sound of an elevators '_ding_' was unmistakable. So he thought to beat her to the entrance?

Jane shot off down the stairs, missing two or three at a time in her desperation. The mounting horror would not let her feel the burn in her thighs. The stairwell was clearly some sort of fire escape, as it was just bare concrete and rusting iron, as opposed to the flawless steel of the hallways.

Endlessly she lurched down the stairs, wheezing with the effort until she burst into a very large and grand hallway covered in a welcoming red carpet. She legged it to one side, hoping to God it was the right way to the exit.

Of course Willy Wonka had to stroll from out a secret entrance in the wall and block her path, cane set resolutely on the floor.

It almost reminded her of that scene in Lord of the Rings. If Wonka banged his cane and told her she could not pass, she was just going to beat him for ruining a good film.

Still charging onwards, Jane feinted to go left, and when he leaned into that direction, she snapped right, zooming around him. Laughing triumphantly, she slammed into the large metal doors, pushing and fighting to her freedom.

The wisp of cold night air that met her skin was beautiful.

She was getting out of here! Turning to give the chocolatier the one fingered salute, she was bemused to find him on his knees, clutching his chest. Examining him for a minute from afar, she pondered at whether he was doing this to get her back into imprisonment by sympathetic means.

Willy was ridiculously scared round now. His chest felt twisted and tight, his throat and lungs too small. Breathing was bizarrely difficult at the moment. The sight of that door being opened... He wheezed, feeling dizzy and hoping it would all just go away.

Jane dithered, one leg jerking towards the courtyard, the other limb itching to see what was wrong with this strange man. Chewing fiercely on the inside of her cheek, she made a sound decision.

"Oi!" She called over from where she stood - the safe ground. "Are you having a panic attack?"

Scrunched up violet eyes regarded her, the line of his mouth showing his confusion as he tried desperately to forget he was there at all. Yet she kept talking to him.

"I think you are. A friend in college used to have them. You need to slow your breathing down," she said as she took a few nervous steps forward and sat cross-legged on the carpet, still some distance away from him. Her vocals were not strong and stern like they normally were, instead her tone was edgey, fluttering.

Not knowing why, Willy followed her lead and sat, but struggled to feel comfortable in his state. "Breathe in, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three."

She carried on like that for a some time, Willy halfheartedly following her advice and occasionally sending her a disgusted look, which she scowled at. When his breathing slowed to a manageable rate, Jane scuttled off towards the doorway again.

"You..." she heard him say weakly, and turned. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and through the pained expression, she saw an awkwardness that was rather notable. "Sorry," he squeaked, and turned away, attempting to get upright himself.

Unsure of how to reply, especially since she thought him incapable of shame or guilt, she settled for some advice.

"You should see a doctor. I think anti-depressants take the edge of physical symptoms like yours."

And she scurried off, the gates mysteriously opening for her.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character.

I'm not too bothered about receiving reviews, as most reviews usually sound the same, but I would like to say if any of you have any constructive criticisms, I would love to hear them. Otherwise, I know you're all enjoying when I look at my story traffic. :) Thanks are due, though, to the reviewer that reassurred me about my characterisation - I was getting a bit paranoid.

The story has been centred a lot around my OC, mostly to introduce the situation. The two characters will be evened out from here on in. Thank you.

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><p>Jane had rolled out of bed at half four in the morning as was usual to get started on setting up her shop. She decided to make the mixes before changing out of her pyjamas, whisking this, mixing that, checking temperatures and washing her hands and tools repeatedly.<p>

With the ovens set for a time, the woman dashed back upstairs to take a quick shower and dress for the day. A fresh pair of leggings and a button up blouse helped her feel more refreshed than the shower did. As she waited in the kitchens, oven mitts at the ready, she mused on the previous nights events.

She should of felt extremely angry. She should of been talking to a lawyer instead of carrying on with her normal routine. She should of been ringing up the newspapers and making sure they slated the name of Wonka. Yet the insecurity she spied last night had set the gauge back to neutral, and she didn't know where her thoughts were. She wasn't sure she had an opinion at the moment. A sliver of sunlight slipped through the blinds of the shop window, and she stopped thinking altogether.

The day passed easily enough - a lot of the customers quizzed about her absence yesterday. Jane gave them the rehearsed "bad news from family" excuse, to which they would politely nod and pry no more. She would have to go over her takings tonight and see what the losses were from not being open yesterday.

After she had locked the shop at five o'clock, cleaned everything and cashed up, she had ended up sat at her desk upstairs rifling through papers. Occasionally she would tap some numbers in a calculator and frown. She was right, she was down by a few hundred.

Tutting, she meandered off into the kitchen to make herself some noodles. When the kettle had begun whistling something came crashing through the roof, frightening the living daylights out of her.

Rushing back into the living room to inspect the damage, she wondered for a brief moment why she hadn't invested in house insurance. Oh yeah, she was hard up, that's why.

Of all the things she was expecting, Willy Wonka in a glass box didn't make the list. Meteor, yes. Satellite, yes. Small mischievous roof climbing child, yes. Willy Wonka, no no no NO! He stepped out casually under her gawking stare, moving around the debris to inspect the bookshelves without delay. She snapped.

"What the fuck have you done to my roof?" She yelled, eyes inspecting the hole hysterically.

"Roof? Ah, yes, I wasn't fond of the idea of knocking on the door," he explained nonchalantly, thumbing through a worn recipe book.

"And _why_ was _that_?" Jane questioned through gritted teeth.

"Well, silly, it just wouldn't do go through a street filled with...people!" He forced through a grinning smile.

She was confused. Why was he being cordial with her? She had graffitied his wall and earned his contempt, and on top of that, had been the possible cause of a panic attack.; not that she felt guilty, as far as she was concerned it served him right putting her under lock and key.

He was now inspecting one of the walls, filled with framed certificates. Her qualifications hung proudly on the wall. Food technology GSCE, food hygiene and retail NVQs, and also some congratulatory certificates from certain cookery classes.

"What are these?" He asked, pointing obnoxiously with his latex covered hands. All her hard work seemed undone in his offhand comment, and reminded her why she resented him. Effortlessly rolling in the sweet money of success whilst she strived only to get paid peanuts.

"You don't even have a food hygiene NVQ?" She asked, wanting to not believe but knowing what he would say.

"Well of course not. Why would I need a piece of paper to tell me I'm clean with my candy? How silly," he stated, shaking his head as if he didn't know of the existence of such things. Jane sighed quietly, fighting off the waves of despondency.

"Why are you here?" She queried, pinching the bridge of her nose at the oncoming headache.

Willy's hat was taken off, and he fiddled with it in his hands for some time. He glanced at her, whilst she looked on wearily at her ruined floor and felt tense.

"I've had it in my head for many a year now, that everything was black and white," he whispered, swallowing thickly around the intense shame he'd felt for the past twenty four hours (so intense he'd risked flying over straight away after the Oompa Loompa's sneakily found the address of the only bakery in the town). His eyes jittered about as he continued. "Right was right, and wrong was wrong. But...holding you prisoner because of vandalism was a tad..._extreme_. Even if your act was despicable," he added, finishing on a note that displaced the blame from him. Typical.

"You smashed through my home just to give me that half assed apology? You better have a hammer and nails on you, or at least some No More Nails," Jane groused, kicking a slipper from under a log.

Willy looked skywards, like he only just realised what he had done, then waved his hand dismissively.

"Of little consequence now-"

"_Oh really_?"

"-and to form the other half of my apology, I was wondering if you would consider a business proposition?" He appealed, eyes slightly wider and more child-like. Waiting. Vulnerable. What odd eyes, Jane thought. She was tempted to say 'yes' right off the bat; a deal with Mr Wonka himself could only be a prosperous venture, but her prejudice slowed her. He was a royal rich bastard, moving from distantly cruel to defenceless within a heartbeat, and he had held her captive. _That cunt had held her captive. _

"Name your terms," Jane said sluggishly, as if tempting fate. She couldn't believe she was even continuing a conversation with this prick without screaming at him - she was a career girl and it really showed at times like these.

"First of all, I buy this shop from you. I renovated the place, jazz it up, and you can continue to work here as an official representative of the Wonka company. You'd be the first to sell all my new lines. The cut from the profits will be forty five percent. And Charlie will work here on Saturdays," he finished, smile part smug, part mad.

It was a good offer, yet something was nagging her.

"I'm a baker. I was trained to be a baker. I don't think I want to sell chocolate bars and candy," she uttered, unsure as she ran a hand through her frazzled dirty blonde hair. Was she really going to say no so she could wake up before dawn everyday and roll mixes about? Her thoughts stayed on the fence, ambiguous.

Willy paced, with what little space was left of the room, and seemed to come up with an idea fast enough.

"I know," he clapped, excitedly. "I buy the shop, renovate, and you're still employed. Through the week, you can help me at my factory. Candy and chocolate are my specialities, and I'm a little lacking in the baking department. We invent some new products, and every weekend, those products are sold at this shop! The strange opening hours would generate a feeling of suspense, and when we do open, gosh there will be a so customers you wont be able to take a break!"

Jane mulled over this idea, liking it better. His enthusiasm seemed to be rubbing off on her, and she had to be careful not to get swept up in money related fantasies. She could still bake, she could still live here, her income would be better - and she would be the driving force behind certain Wonka items. Fantastic. That was certainly something to write home about.

"Do I still get to live here?"

"Yup," he nodded, pleased to see her coming round to the idea. He made an encouraging gesture to spur her on. The guilt he felt sat uncomfortably on his shoulders and he wanted to get rid of it.

"When will my days off be?"

"Huh? Days off? I suppose...Monday and Tuesday?" Willy offered, not used to these 'days off'.

She didn't like the idea of having two days off in a row, knowing she would get too restless. Not to mention Tuesday was pension day, and she would much prefer to be working on that day than trying to get her shopping done whilst trying to dodge ambling oldies.

"How about Monday and Friday?" She tested.

He nodded, not entirely caring.

"Well..." she mumbled, grey eyes wide with disbelief and a little twinkle of ambition, "yes?"


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character.

I had quite a lot of fun with the cockney rhyming slang. This would be more of a filler chapter.

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><p>After a generous sum had been deposited into the woman's bank account, and the deeds had been posted to him, Willy had set about employing builders and decorators to get the job done. All through outsourcing of course - this particular company had e-mailed their account number, asked for a certain payment, then they would presumably follow his blue prints to the letter.<p>

It was following these tedious technological based interactions that a flustered phone call was patched through to him from Administration. He apologised to the Buckets for interrupting lunch, and took the call outside.

"Yello?"

"You could of told me they were starting work today!" A female voice growled down the receiver. Taking a few seconds to click onto who it was, Mr Wonka frowned.

"I can't imagine how that would matter," he replied nonchalantly.

"You!" Jane nearly screamed. "My stuff is still in there! You haven't given me enough time to sort myself out. Now there is a bunch of bored looking builders waiting on me to move my things down to the local Bed and Breakfast and I hope to _God_ they are getting paid by the hour!"

"Rather unprepared aren't you?" He mused aloud, dusting some sugar off of the Bucket's creaky house. He should probably get some Oompa Loompa's to do a little renovating here as well.

"If you had actually _communicated_ with your _business partner_ then this would not have happened. Did you hear me? _Communication? _Shall I define the word for you, I have an Oxford Dictionary on one of these shelv-"

"Unnecessary," he answered, lacing in as much synthetic cheer as humanly possible. "Just...put one of them on the phone," he uttered begrudgingly, though finding himself beckoning with his free hand despite there being no audience.

The sound of rustles, bangs and muffled words were the prelude to the rough cockney accent he was forced to converse with.

"All right mate, I hears you're the one paying us. What seems to be the Barney Rubble?"

Willy got the gist of what he was saying, but was still in the frame of mind he was in twenty years ago - why is it Londoners couldn't speak properly? The only reason he set up his factory here was because of a profitable industrial boom around that time in the area.

"You're still getting paid as far as I'm concerned," Willy choked around his social anxiety. "Help the woman with her items then begin your work."

He heard the distant shout of "well lads, we're helping the gooseberry puddin'", and after some footsteps, "he's a right bale of hay".

As Jane Shepard was putting the mobile back to her ear, she replied to the man "tell me about it."

"What was that?" Willy asked insistently, forgetting how awkward he was at using phones. "What did he say?"

"Oh," she said smoothly, trying not to laugh. She knew very well what they were saying about him. "I think bale of hay means okay?" She offered, silently laughing with the builder as he had heard her half of the talk.

"Hm. Well I suppose I am..."

"Bye," Jane ended the call, rolling her eyes at the builders. She rushed upstairs before them, intent on hiding her unmentionables before they descended upon her belongings.

Willy headed back into the house, wanting to finish his ham and cheese sandwich, but met the piercing stares of the Bucket family.

"That the girl?" Mr Bucket asked as aloof as possible.

"Indeed," Willy said as he settled himself back down. "Silly girl hadn't even organised herself," he sniffed. Of course the blame was not on him.

"You didn't tell her when, did you?" Charlie accused, reading him like an open book. Sometimes he was resentful of the boy, always making him question himself.

"No matter, it's been sorted."

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><p>There was barely any space in the small rented room now that all of Jane's stuff was there. The bed had to be left behind because of its size, so she told the workmen to break it down and get rid of it. She needed a new frame and mattress anyway - they were getting too old.<p>

She was now going through her hastily picked up mail, and a purple envelope immediately caught her attention. Most likely junk, she thought. Opening it, she was instead surprised to find a very odd employees contract. It was printed on fine red card and written in gold - a combination that was absurdly hard to read. If she tilted it a certain way, though, she could just about make it out.

_Employee,_

_Welcome to the factory. In your employment at Wonka Co. and also in the event of your probable termination you are required to practise extreme discretion. Espionage on your part would be punished with immediate termination of employment, a demeaning lawsuit and a personal slap from myself._

_During your employment, you are also required to be cleansed and appropriately dressed when entering the factory; ingredients and products must remain uncontaminated._

_Your required work is thus:-_

_Aid in the creation of baked products for Wonka Co._

_Be the sole sale representative for Wonka Co. with additional help from my apprentice, whom you are to train in the ways of retail._

_You are to represent the best of the Wonka company, do not let me down._

_Willy Wonka _

At the bottom was a little dotted line for her signature. She knew to authenticate the contract she would have to sign it. Yet it was more of a letter than a contract.

Jane was a little peeved about the fact he was convinced she was going to spy on him and his work. Why offer her the job if he was uncertain? For that sole reason she held off the signing and stowed the card in a safe place for the moment.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character.

My chapters come in super sweet snippets. :)

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><p>The previous evening Jane had received a terse phone call from from Mr Wonka relaying very detailed instructions on how to enter the factory unnoticed; which led her to being stood outside an unsuspecting spot of the surrounding wall at half past five in the morning, shivering in the cold light.<p>

She was supposed to knock on three separate and slightly discoloured bricks, yet she could not, for the life of her, spot these said bricks. Running her cold hands over the rough surface (or was it her rough hands over the cold surface?), trying to find the differences in the blocks, she muttered to herself.

"God's sake, just let me the bloody hell in."

To Jane's shock, a section of the wall suddenly sank back and swung open to reveal a dreary and dimly lit tunnel.

"You're joking," she whispered to herself. She could not really count herself in the minority of people that liked to take strolls in dark and confining spaces.

"Scaredy-cat," a self-satisfied giggle came from the gloom.

"You're much older than I thought. You haven't discovered electricity yet," retorted Jane with a swift comeback.

A sudden glow shed light on the immaculate yet peculiar man - why he was holding a giant illuminated lollipop was beyond her. Squinting, she could almost make out something moving from inside the confectionery.

Noticing her gaze, Willy glanced at the item then back.

"Lollybugs," he said, as if that somehow explained the situation.

She suddenly felt reverted back to being an eight year old, wanting to ask 'why this?' and 'why that?' but decided on keeping her trap shut.

"Why didn't you knock on the bricks?" He asked, puzzled head tilted to one side, hat nearly toppling off.

"Have you even seen that wall? They all look the same," Jane replied, a little defensively.

Willy strode past her, keeping a preferable distance and inspected his property. He pointed to three bricks - which she was frantically trying to memorise - one after the other.

"These three are pebble shore, the rest a mellow mocha. Simple enough, wasn't it?" He educated her smugly.

She gave him a flat look. There was absolutely no difference in colour as far as she could tell.

"Come along, time's a wasting," he chirped, heeled boots clicking ahead of her.

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><p>The tunnel had led them into the hallway where Willy remembered he had his 'panic attack' whilst Jane had tried to escape. Inspecting her face discreetly, he noted she seemed to either have no recollection of the event or was simply not reacting or prying.<p>

With a flip of his hand, he told her to place her coat anywhere she wanted. Seemingly at a loss because of a severe lack of coat hangers, he watched curiously as she went back over to the wall they had exited and deposited her outer wear on the floor there.

Interestingly, she was not wearing the usual leggings, tank top and cardigan combo he had seen her in so often; if you called their meetings 'often'. Instead she was wearing a button up blouse, a grey waistcoat and skirt, thick denier tights and shiny low heeled shoes; they were slightly creased and were clearly of low quality, but he made a mental note of her effort (at the same time, Jane was wondering when she could sneak a chance to pull up her tights without him noticing).

"We'll be heading on up to the inventing room. I had Mrs Bucket fetch any baking ingredients she could find from the local shops so we should be set up for now - of course in future I will be producing my own flour and such, buying from other sources is rather expensive. It's just such a shame the geese wont lay normal eggs, they were in fact offended by the idea," he chatted amiably, as he power walked towards the nearest elevator terminal.

Looking back flippantly, he recognised the all too familiar look of socially awkward confusion. Her eyebrows pulled in, making her round eyes seem sharp, and her lips pursed as if to talk, but nothing came of it.

He could of felt awkward. People grimacing at him in confusion like they so often do; like Charlie still does sometimes when he rants. Yet this was his domain, and here he had power.

Smirking at his own self-assurance, he entered the elevator with the woman, eager to see her stumble.

And stumble she did when they jetted off to the left abruptly, throwing her into the wall and down to the floor when they shot upwards. He looked down on her with his twinkling egotistical eyes, bent knees taking the movements with a practised ease.

"Prick," she called up from where she lay, disdainful.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones-" he began to sing.

"But whips and chains excite you? Thought as much, freak," she sniffed, prideful as she stood up and adjusted her knee length skirt.

He was suddenly thrown back into a brief flashback where Ms Beauregarde was trying to be sickly sweet to him, batting her eyelashes.

"Ew," he gagged, coming back to reality.

As they flew through a variety of rooms, Willy watched intently as she pressed her forehead and fingertips against the elevators glass, looking so much younger without her eyebrows in their usual pinched position.

Jane drank it all in, orbs roving over the clouds of fudge mountain, imagining herself to be a fearless bird of prey.

Her small but plump lips were parted in wonder, and they became Willy's point of focus. A tongue shot out to wet the skin, and his throat became strangely parched at the sight. He ripped his eyes away, and jabbed the 'Inventing Room' button, hoping the machine would hear his prayers and hurry them along.


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own anything apart from this meagerly formed idea and a hastily made up character.

Sorry for the delay, I've got a cold and it's making me miserable.

Jane was busying herself trying to make as many varieties of cinnamon rolls as possible - some more soft and most, others drier and crunchier, and a select few with odd added ingredients that Willy had suggested whilst watching her. Trying carefully to wrap the pastry around a giant marshmallow, Jane felt oddly thrilled to be experimenting with food stuffs again like she used to do in college. She turned to check her notes; exact instructions and weights of the recipes she'd made.

Setting the odd variety of rolls on a baking tray, she moved to put them in a nearby and futuristic looking oven when she clocked Mr. Wonka exciting the room.

"Where you off?" She called out, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

He turned with an expression that said he was surprised to be talked to, but it quickly changed. "Other business to attend. Go ahead and clean up, the oompa loompas will get you what you need." He was about to waltz out through the vault like door, before holding up a finger, as if remembering. "Oh yeah, whatever you do, don't touch that new machine over there. It's making a new top secret product of mine, but I'm afraid it's a tad temperamental."

She glanced at the ridiculous looking deathtrap before turning back and shrugging to him.

With him now gone and the oven temperatures set, she went about cleaning up her workspace. The strange little people had sure enough brought her a spray bottle of Flash Lemon and a handful of dishcloths. She took them hesitantly, thanking them in a small voice - she still felt the residual urge to boot them for their strange indifference to her kidnapping, same of course being said for their master.

As she scrubbed and scoured, washed and dried, she finally began to ponder on Willy's parting words.

Was there any actual need to tell her about the malfunctioning machine? It was across the room, so she was hardly going to bump into the damned thing. The more she ruminated on the words, the more she kept sneaking looks at the odd contraption. Then she noticed the Oompa Loompas (as they were apparently called, yet she was unconvinced) giving her knowing looks. Then it clicked.

Leaning down to one of the tanned little people, she whispered, "does he always do that?"

Her answer was a smiling nod, and a few chuckles from nearby workers.

She supposed it was to be expected that someone who'd been cheated that many times was bound to have a weird sort of corporate conspiracy complex.

"Well, lead me nod into temptation. What else is there to do?"

A small hand pointed to a very hairy Oompa Loompa who was trying to cut his own tresses.

Willy wandered his halls, peeking past doors and checking in rooms. After two hours, and once satisfied none of his workers had been set alight, he trotted on back to the seahorse ship, intent on going back to the inventing room.

The presence of the woman in his factory had slightly offended him as it had when he had let those five children have a tour. Mrs Bucket's ability to nag was the sole reason Miss Shepard had become a business partner - unless it had anything to do with new inventions, Willy Wonka did not like change.

Strolling back into dimly lit room, he saw Jane standing next to a table, as if waiting for him. She was favouring one of her crossed legs and leaning onto the steel surface with her bare strong arms. Next to her hand was the tray of rolls she had been making.

"Don't worry," she called with a knowing look, "nothing exploded whilst you were away."

"Jolly good, can't have explosions happening!" He replied as he swallowed thickly. Perhaps his little test of curiosity was best used on children, and not adults.

"Hurry up then, scoff down some rolls, it's why I'm here," she drawled lazily once noticing he seemed to be off in his own world.

"Oh yes, of course!" He trotted over to the tray and picked one up at random - the plain one. A delicate nibble then, a toss backwards over his shoulder. "Too dry." The one that had extra milk and butter in the recipe. This one was thrown. "Acceptable." The cinnamon roll with raisins and sultanas in. Also chucked over his shoulder. "Wrong."

The one with the giant marshmallow wrapped inside was the only one he could say he was impressed with. The gooey texture on the inside complimented the rough pastry on the outside. He even hummed a little with pleasure. Looking at Jane, he nodded, smile enthusiastic. "Now this one's a keeper."

Jane raised her eyebrow and sent a disappointed sigh over the rolls on the floor that the Oompa Loompas were sweeping up. The one he had picked, had been the only one he had imput on. Was it truly better with his advice, or was it him being egotistical?

"Goodness," Willy gasped suddenly. "Ralph, who gave you a mullet?"


End file.
